


Adam Pukes

by whydoihavethiskink



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emetophilia, Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whydoihavethiskink/pseuds/whydoihavethiskink
Summary: Adam pukes. Then he pukes again. And again. If you like puke, you'll like this.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 23





	Adam Pukes

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the uncreative title lol. Special request by anon!

Continuing education, they called it. More like absolute boredom. It seemed like every year was the same program of sensitivity training and anti-bullying videos where the presenter’s voice was infuriatingly slow, and a travel-worn College Board rep trying to sell the latest materials to help your students get marginally higher scores on their exorbitantly priced tests.

This year it was even worse than usual. Adam didn’t know what he’d eaten, but it wasn’t sitting well. His stomach gurgled as he slumped over his desk—it felt strange to be back on that side of the classroom again—and he felt bloated. His belt dug into his unusually taut belly.

He raised his head from the desk, knowing he should be at least pretending to pay attention, and felt a wave of dizziness. Oh no. This wasn’t something he could fix with Tums—he was really _sick_. Being a teacher meant you picked up all sorts of bugs, no matter how much hand sanitizer you used, so Adam was extremely familiar with the symptoms of the dreaded stomach flu. Dizziness on top of a stomachache was the definitive sign.

Next to him, Shiro had noticed his unusually listless behavior. He poked Adam, and raised an eyebrow when Adam (more carefully) turned to look at him. Adam gave him a lopsided smile: _I’m fine, just bored_.

Shiro’s eyebrows ascended further, then furrowed. _Really? You don’t look like it._

Adam nodded slightly. _Yeah, really_.

Shiro shrugged, almost imperceptibly. _Well, okay, if you say so…(but I don’t really believe you)._

Adam turned away, trying to look very interested in the new minor scoring updates to the state standardized tests for eighth-graders. He himself taught Driver’s Ed and high school physics.

Suddenly his stomach gave a much bigger lurch. Adam had to hastily swallow down bile. Shit, this was hitting him fast. He’d been fine an hour ago! Anyway, this was going to come up, whether he wanted it to or not, and it absolutely was not going to be in front of anyone else. He’d go to the bathroom, pray to Saint John of the Swirling Waters, and then hopefully the relief that came after a round of vomiting would last until he got home and could go to sleep with a bucket next to his bed.

Hurriedly, Adam got up from his desk and slunk out of the room, mouthing “bathroom” at the glare his boss gave him. She was always after the lot of them for “not taking CE sessions seriously,” as if there was ever anything new in the programming she arranged, or as if she weren’t herself playing online poker the whole time. Adam ran down the hall, clutching his angry and sloshing stomach, dizzy and keeping himself upright by vision alone. He made it through the bathroom door and into the blessedly empty stall. He positioned his face over the toilet seat, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Now that he was in front of a toilet, nothing was coming up! His stomach was still hurting unbearably, but that upward movement just wouldn’t come. Adam tried to force it up with his stomach muscles, but that didn’t work, and just made everything hurt worse.

There was one more thing he could try. Adam looked at his hand. His fingers weren’t clean. He’d been touching the toilet, his desk, goodness knows what else since he’d last washed his hands. Then again, he was already sick. What was the worst that could happen—more stomach flu on top of his stomach flu? And weren’t doorknobs supposed to have more pathogens than toilets? Before he could lose his resolve, Adam stuck his fingers deep into his mouth.

Spit dripped onto the plastic toilet seat as his fingers scrabbled against the back of his throat. He gagged a little, saliva dribbling down his fingers and onto his wrist, but still didn’t vomit. Dammit—he’d never thought that being good at giving head would be a disadvantage. He’d had so much practice swallowing Shiro’s cock that having something poke his soft palate didn’t so much as cause his stomach to turn over in its sleep. His eyes watered and his nose began to run from the stimulation, and now his throat was sore, but still nothing was coming up.

He’d have to go back to the class. Miss any more of it, and his boss wouldn’t let him count it as a CE credit. That would mean he’d have to come in the next time there was a session, sit in the same stifling classroom with no air conditioning, and watch the same boring videos. Grimacing, Adam stood up.

Weirdly, that did it. The vertigo hit again, and Adam suddenly felt a splash of thin, bitter, burning vomit travel up from his stomach in one excruciating clench and exit his mouth. It splashed across the toilet seat, quickly dripping off the smooth plastic but leaving bits of half-digested food behind. Adam stared at it dizzily, holding onto the handicap rail for balance.

That couldn’t be all of it. Could it? His stomach still hurt. However, for the moment, no more was coming up. At least none of it had gotten on his clothes. Adam wiped down the toilet seat with a bit of toilet paper, washed his hands, rinsed out his mouth, and went back to the classroom. His boss glared at him.

It was just two more hours. And eight minutes, but that didn’t count. He’d be fine.

He was not fine.

Thirty minutes later, it was all Adam could do not to fall out of his desk. He was pale and visibly sweating. His stomach felt like it was about to explode, the cramps like knives in his gut. At the very least, he was going to puke again, and he suspected that at some point it was going to go _the other way_ too. He tried to tough it out for a little longer, occasionally burping to take the edge off, but eventually accepted the inevitable: he had to leave again. Screw the course; this was about survival. Gripping the edge of his desk tightly for balance, he started to get up.

Behind him, Sanda cleared her throat.

Fuck.

Slowly, Adam eased himself back down, pretending he’d just tried to stretch or something. When Sanda told you to do something, you did it. Even without words, her meaning was clear: Adam was stuck to that desk like he was glued to it, until the end of the class.

Which was still one hour and twenty-seven minutes in the future.

Adam clenched his fists on the desk in front of him, focusing on breathing slowly and deeply. Every breath irritated the back of his throat where he’d tried to gag himself earlier, each inhale and exhale threatening to trip the hair-trigger switch and bring everything in his stomach back up. The fluid roiled inside him, like a swamp monster about to attack.

 _Must not puke. Must not puke._ He swallowed hard. _Must. Not. P_ —

It was too late. Unable to control his stomach, Adam puked all over his desk. It wasn’t thin puke this time. This was thick, chunky; the whole of his lunch and then some. Unable to stop himself, he puked again. More disgusting chunky slop splattered onto the desk, splashing the first puddle. It was so much puke that it overflowed the desk and onto the floor. Droplets spattered onto the legs of neighboring desks.

Around him, people shouted and backed away. Desks screeched across the floor as their occupants sought to avoid the mess. The presenter had stopped and put her hands to her mouth in horror, looking slightly nauseated herself. Adam could feel Sanda’s eyes glaring into the back of his head, could feel everyone else’s eyes staring at him; could see Shiro’s eyes staring at him, wide with horror and shock and revulsion. Even through the haze and misery of his sickness, Adam could bear it no longer. He jumped up and ran out of the classroom, heading in the general direction of the bathroom, but mostly _anywhere but here_.

He was dizzier than before. Dehydrated, probably. Just a few steps down the hallway, Adam tripped and fell. His stomach lurched at the impact. On his hands and knees, he vomited again, spewing stinking vileness onto cracked institutional flooring. He stared down at the mess. Was that his breakfast cereal in there? How long had this humiliating infection been brewing?

Footsteps behind him. He hadn’t gone far enough to hide himself and his stink and shame. Adam mustered up the last of his strength and ran for the bathroom. If he could get there, he could lock himself in the toilet stall and then no one could see him. He could hide there. No one would have to see him ever again.

That was the plan. It even almost worked. Adam got into the bathroom and into the stall. Then he fell, as he tried to lock the stall door, overtaken by the strongest wave of dizziness yet. When visual input made sense again, he was lying on the floor, with the stall door open, vomiting onto the floor. His cheek rested in the slimy puddle. Dear god, Adam wondered, how was there even anything _left_? A trickle of clear fluid slowly made its way towards his face, wending along the cracks between the floor tiles, and Adam realized in horror that he’d pissed himself. Was still pissing himself. Between the heaving and his weakened state, he didn’t have the strength to hold it in. Yet another expulsion forced another wave of chunky puke over his tongue, and forced out another spurt of piss despite his best efforts to clench up.

Just when he thought the situation could not possibly get worse, the bathroom door opened.

“Babe?” Shiro’s voice came through the doorway. “Adam? You in here?”

(He had not been hard to follow. Adam had left a dripping trail of vomit from his desk to the bathroom, and besides, the horking sounds were unmistakable.)

Adam didn’t answer. He could not unsee that look on Shiro’s face when he’d thrown up in that classroom. Disgust. Revulsion. Fear. He’d never seen Shiro look at him like that before. Like he was something in a Tupperware that had gone moldy in the fridge. The love of his life, staring at him like that. If just puking had caused that kind of loathing, what would Shiro think if he saw him now, lying in a puddle of his own vomit and piss on a filthy bathroom floor, not even able to make it over to the toilet? How could Shiro love him or make love to him ever again, after seeing that?

“Oh, Babe. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick? I could’ve taken you home.”

Adam tried to say “Because then we’d have to retake the CE session,” but it got cut off by more retching.

“I found you some clothes—they got the t-shirts and sweats in for the football team already—so once you get it all out we can get you cleaned up, okay?”

“Why are you lying to me?” Adam retched again. His voice was hoarse from all the stomach acid.

“What?” Shiro was completely confused.

“I’m disgusting. And you hate me.” Adam heaved up another wave of vomit. This one was entirely bile. “It was all—it was written all over your face.”

“What?!? No! I don’t hate you. I was disgusted by the puke, not you.” Shiro reached down and felt Adam’s forehead, on a clean spot. “You’re burning up. No wonder you’re paranoid. Now let’s get you out of those clothes and get you cleaned up.”

Adan could not stop retching, but eventually nothing more was coming up. Sitting up shakily, he began to peel off his soaked shirt. Suddenly, Shiro turned away and began gagging over the toilet that Adam had never quite made it to.

“What’s wrong?” asked Adam, his voice rough with stomach acid. “Are you getting sick, too?”

“No,” gasped Shiro, wiping his mouth. “At least, not yet. Let’s be real, I’ve probably caught it. It’s the smell, when you took your shirt off. It sort of wafted over and I just…” he mimed gagging. “I’ll be fine.”

There was no real way to clean up Adam completely, but Shiro did his best with wet paper towels. As Shiro scrubbed away the filth, Adam slowly sipped on a Gatorade from the vending machine. It was supposed to be good for dehydration, and it did make him feel a little better. Finally, nowhere near clean but at least no longer dripping piss and vomit, Adam pulled on the unfamiliar sweatpants and t-shirt (Go Garrison Paladins!), then let Shiro guide him out to the car. Then he had to fish around in the bag full of his filthy clothes to find his car keys. Shiro took them with a wince that looked like it was going to make his face stick that way.

Cars were a mistake, Adam decided a few blocks later. Why couldn’t everyone have stuck to horses? Even with the “pooping everywhere” problem, the animals had to be less nauseating. Adam had never actually ridden a horse, and certainly not in his current condition, so he had no real point of comparison, but anything would have been better than what the car was doing right now. He tended to get carsick at the best of times, if he wasn’t the one driving (and occasionally even if he was), and right now his stomach was looking for any excuse to empty itself. Grimly, he tried to hold the Gatorade down—vending machines were expensive and it would be a waste to throw the stuff back up, he was in a car, it would be outrageously difficult to get vomit out of the seats. The liquid sloshed horribly inside him, hitting the inflamed walls of his stomach with painful force at every crack and bump in the road. Then Shiro had to merge onto the bypass that looped the city, and hit the speed grooves on the shoulder of the entrance ramp—as well as Adam’s limit. Adam hastily rolled down his window, slightly used Gatorade already filling his mouth with bitter bile and sickly sweetness. Watery puke spilled from his lips, streaking the side of the passenger door. So much for rehydration. The stuff had actually tasted pretty good going down—he’d been that dehydrated—but coming back up, it was vile. Even after it was all out, he kept gagging, the taste in his mouth not letting him have any relief. Though nothing but drool was coming out now, Adam didn’t have the will to pull his head back into the car. Even the wind of freeway traffic wasn’t enough to dry his tears as he sobbed out his misery, unable to throw up any more of it.

At least this time it hadn’t gotten on his clothing.

Finally Shiro pulled into their driveway. Adam wobbled his way inside and collapsed on the couch, which was closer than the bedroom. Shiro came in, taking the dirty clothes bag to the laundry room. Cupboards opened and shut, and then came the soothing whirring of the washing machine. Well, soothing until Adam thought about how washing machines worked. Just the thought of the frontloader spinning its drum made him retch all over again, as if his stomach were in there instead of his clothes (and it sure felt like it, after that car ride). Nothing came up but spit—and a good thing, too, because he hadn’t had the energy to get anything to throw up into.

Shiro emerged from the laundry room and handed Adam a small trash can, apparently as a puke bucket. Then he headed for the front door.

Adam began to cry again. “Don’t leave me alone,” he sobbed.

Shiro turned and knelt by the couch, petting Adam’s hair. “Ssssh, it’s okay. I’m just going to the grocery store for Pedialyte and Pepto-Bismol. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Adam nodded and tried to smile, but he couldn’t stop crying. Snot started to drip out of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“Hey, it’s fine. We’ll get through it. I’ve gotta go get that stuff, but I’ll be back soon and then you’ll feel better.” Truth be told, he didn’t feel great leaving Adam alone right now, but he needed to stock up. He’d opened the Pepto-Bismol in their medicine cupboard, only to find that it was dried hard as a rock and (when he looked closer) a year past its expiration date. And he doubted Adam could keep pills down; he’d better get children’s ibuprofen so at least he’d absorb some of it before it inevitably came back up. He vaguely remembered the orange flavor being not too horrible. Certainly not compared to chewable Tylenol. He shuddered at the memory.

“Do I still smell bad?” asked Adam, noticing.

“No, no!” assured Shiro, which was a white lie, but the vomit smell hadn’t been the reason. “Just a twitch.” He kissed Adam’s forehead (which was relatively clean) and left for his grocery mission.

Adam lay on the couch for several minutes, but couldn’t properly relax. He still felt gross all over. Despite what Shiro had said, he knew he stank. It was a terrible idea, but…he was going to take a shower. Shakily, he got up and headed toward the master bathroom.

Shiro got home an hour later with bags full of groceries. He hadn’t meant to take so long, but he’d remembered they needed milk, and then bananas were supposed to be good when you had an upset stomach, and it had taken forever to figure out the difference between three types of anti-nausea medication…. He opened the Pedialyte and poured some of into a juice cup; then, going into the living room, he realized that Adam was no longer on the couch. Maybe he’d made it to the bedroom? Shiro went in, and heard the sound of water running. He checked the bathroom.

Adam had passed out in the shower. The hot water was running full blast—they had a system that heated water as it went through the pipes (it was also an anti-freezing mechanism in winter), so it didn’t get cold like it would with a traditional water heater. Unfortunately, that meant that it had to be exacerbating Adam’s fever. His face was blazing hot. Shiro turned the water off.

“Hey. Hey. Adam? Wake up.” For a moment, Shiro was afraid he’d need to drive him to the hospital. Then Adam stirred and squinted up at Shiro, making a confused noise.

Shiro sighed in relief. “Adam, I’m back. And I got you some medicine. It’s gonna be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Discord server!](https://discord.gg/h6DYxDY)


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